


Half-Life

by BalefireFlatlands



Series: The Balefire [15]
Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-19 20:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: Jeet finally finds out what Blas being a half-life really means.





	Half-Life

Scab squirmed around, trying to get some relief from the crick in his neck caused by laying down for too long. Against his chest, Blas huffed, barely waking up as he dug his fingers into Scab’s shoulder to try and stop him from moving. Scab froze, looking down before reaching up to stroke his back, encouraging him to stay asleep. The Bullet Boy’s skin was feverishly hot, slick with sweat even in the frigid night air of the lighthouse.

It would be morning soon, and Scab was already antsy with energy he’d normally burn off by yelling at the residents of the stronghold as they woke up. He was trapped now though, unwilling to move from where Blas was using him as a mattress. Grunting he tilted his head towards the opening of the room, narrowing his eyes and trying to will Jeet to walk past by thinking it as loudly as possible.

When that inevitably failed, he shifted his weight to his side, rocking back and forth and using his palms to push down against the ground and inch his way to the entrance. Blas started to slip and Scab held on tight to his bullet belt to keep him in place as he wormed his way out onto the catwalk. He was trying to not wake him, but with all the clanking from his chained up legs and his panted huffing breath, Scab was now even more worried that Blas seemed to still be sleeping.

“Imperator.” Scab called in as hushed a whisper as he could manage. His screechy voice wasn’t made to be soft and it came out more like a croak. Jeet surprisingly wasn’t in his chair nor could he hear him barking orders to anyone and Scab’s eyes darted around, looking for solutions.

From deep within one of the many pockets in his pants he pulled out a wrench, throwing it at a nearby lighthouse resident and thwoncking him in the shins. Ignoring the flurry of expletives and how close he came to having it thrown back in full force directly at his face, he simply said “Go get the Imperator.”

“I don’t take orders from you Scab.” Wincing, the man reached down to rub his leg, the only thing keeping him from stomping Scab’s face in was that he didn’t want to accidentally injure Blas Cap who seemed to be passed out on him. “What’d you do to the Bullet Boy?”

“He’s half-life you mealy sack of pus.” Scab stopped snarling long enough to re-adjust how Blas was laying on him, then dropped his hand to root around in his pants for another wrench to throw. “Get the Imperator.”

With a roll of his eyes, the man stomped away to retrieve Jeet. Not because Scab ordered him to, but because he knew full well that if Blas was dying and Jeet wasn’t informed there’d be hell to pay. Scab was still living in the Lighthouse because Jeet liked him. Sure he was a mechanic and knew how to weld, which made him more valuable than just as Jeet’s bedwarmer. But Blas Cap was another level entirely. Without him the Lighthouse would fall back on hard times. They needed him. Needed what he produced in order to trade and to defend themselves. He’d imparted his knowledge onto other residents, but he was an expert, whereas they were still struggling to not blow themselves up when mixing powder.

It took everything in Jeet to not tear up the staircase when he heard that his powder cook was ill. But he managed to act somewhat normal, mentally repeating to himself that they were only resources, prisoners for the Lighthouse. However; his face betrayed his concern as soon as he actually saw Blas.

The scrawny yellow body plastered on top of Scab seemed somehow even more fragile than normal. He’d never looked healthy, but Jeet could actually see him struggling to breathe, laying a hand on his ribs and he could feel his lungs straining to pull in air.

“How long he been like this?” Jeet knelt down to slide his hands under Blas’s torso and carry him back into his room.

Scab stretched, back cracking loudly as he twisted around up onto his hands to follow them. “Since last night. Thought he’d be better in the morning after getting some sleep.”

Blas curled into Jeet’s chest, barely reacting to being shuffled over and moved about. He was burning up, yet shaking and shivering as if freezing.

Once back in the privacy of Blas’ room, Jeet’s facade cracked even further, gently setting Blas down on the mattress and stroking his cheek. “Blas? Can ya hear me? You alright?”

No response from the Bullet Boy who lay there limp and lifeless while Scab hovered around worriedly. “He spoke earlier. Said something about the mine.”

“Mine?” Jeet knelt down, putting his face close to Blas’ to listen to his breathing.

“Where they pull the bullets from the earth.” Scab’s knowledge of how the Bullet Farm made ammunition was very limited.

Blas muttered upon hearing someone talking about the Bullet Farm. He didn’t open his eyes, but his hand shot out to try and push away an imaginary threat.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Jeet stretched next to him, rubbing his damaged arm. “Wake up for a bit. Come on. You know where ya are?”

Highly distressed, Scab plopped down behind him, burying his face into Blas’ back and making odd wheezing sounds.

Immediately Blas panicked, launching himself away from Scab and shoving at Jeet in an effort to escape. “No no no. Not going back there. Not… Leave me alone!”

Startled, Jeet went to back off, only to reach out as Blas tried to get up by supporting himself with a hand that no longer existed and crumpled to the ground. He lay there panting with his eyes closed, blood starting to trickle from a cut in his scalp where he’d bashed his head against one of the many ammo cases littering his room.

Meanwhile Scab, horrified that he’d scared Blas enough to do something like that, pressed himself against the wall trying to become as small as possible. He hadn’t intended to frighten him, he’d just been so concerned that he’d forgotten how much Blas didn’t like having people behind him. Blas had gotten better about that recently, since he trusted both Jeet and Scab, but it still took conscious effort to not tense up and cringe away. In his current state he wasn’t coherent enough to be aware of the situation and reacted completely on instinct to run from the perceived threat.

Jeet carefully gathered Blas up stroking the back of his neck. “You’re okay. You’re in the Lighthouse. Yer safe here.”

“Jeet?” Blas’ voice was weak and shaky, barely audible.

“Yeah. Right here.” Jeet tried to look down at him, but Blas scooched closer and nuzzled into his neck. “What’s wrong? Whaddya need?”

Getting comfortable, Blas huffed a warm breath against Jeet as his fingers dug deeply into Jeet’s pant leg, "’m half-life.“

"I don’t know what that means Blas.” Jeet looked over at Scab for answers, but Scab was cowering, eyes focused on Blas instead of his Imperator.

“Sick.” Blas was fading fast, starting to go limp again. “You’ll witness me?”

Scab perked up at that, inching closer with a very concerned expression on his face.

Jeet didn’t know what that meant either, but between Blas almost passing out in his arms and Scab’s reaction, he felt compelled to answer, “‘Course. I’ll be right here.”

Smiling softly, Blas brought his hand up to rest against Jeet’s neck, rubbing him with his thumb as he started to fall back asleep.

Both Blas and Scab used language that Jeet didn’t understand: half-life, witness, even Imperator. All of that was foreign to Jeet who hadn’t grown up brainwashed into a war-based society. He vaguely understood that half-life meant they were lower on the hierarchy, Scab being a full life meant he was eligible to rise in the ranks or even become an Imperator himself one day. He’d killed plenty of War Boys and he’d seen the lumps and disfigurement that went with being whatever a half-life was.

But Blas didn’t look like that at all.

He didn’t have any tumors, they would have been starkly obvious on his gaunt frame. However it was clear he was very sick. Jeet had been ignoring it for as long as he could, blaming the Thrall Rustlers who had kept him in a cage, or Gutgash having tortured him. Those wounds had long since healed, this was something else.

Jeet just didn’t know what that something else might be.

—

Hours later Jeet shifted a sleeping Blas to the side so he could move his arm, wincing at the pins and needles of lost circulation. Scab hadn’t slept the entire time and he sat up immediately. Jeet patted the area next to him, encouraging Scab to move so he’d stop hovering over Blas and breathing in his face. They’d been silent for a long while, but that had given Jeet plenty of time to mull things over. “What’s half-life? I don’t know half the words you spew.”

Body curling around Jeet, Scab rested a trembling hand on Blas’s damaged arm. He needed to keep him close, be touching him to make sure he was still breathing. “He’ll never be Champion. A life that’s forfeit.” Scab scrunched his face up as he tried to remember what the Organic used to tell half-life War Boys to insult them. “His blood is bad. Toxic and festering. War Boys get weak and sickly until they die in glorious battle. I don’t know about Bullet Boys.”

“He’s pretty weak and sickly now.”

“He’s not gonna die! He can’t.”

Jeet didn’t respond. Of course he could die; they all could. That was how life worked in the Wasteland. He didn’t WANT Blas to die, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it if Blas really was that sick.

Blas opened one eye and poked Scab with his stump. “Haven’t died yet.”

“Well you can’t. What about Valhalla?”

“What about it? I don’t think I’m going to Valhalla.”

Highly agitated Scab pressed even closer, cutting off the circulation to Jeet’s lower half and causing him to fidget uncomfortably. “That’s the problem! We need to make you a proper War Boy.”

Jeet rolled his eyes as they bickered, glad that Blas was at least awake for it, even if he did sound breathless and wheezy.

“I’m a Bullet Boy.”

“That’s what we gotta fix.”

Blas made a disgruntled sound as Scab got too close and started to squash him. Jeet pulled him back, shoving him down on the ground next to him so he’d stop pestering Blas.

“Knock it off Scab. Let him sleep.”

Scab grudgingly laid down. He had too much energy to stay still for this long, but he was too worried about Blas to crawl out of the room and do something else. He watched as Blas fell back into a fitful slumber, his breathing shallow, fingers twitching.

Looking up at Jeet wasn’t very reassuring as the Warlord was carefully stroking Blas’ scalp and looking uncharacteristically distressed. Scab inched closer until he was half in Jeet’s lap, agitated and concerned and unable to do anything.

—

“’m not going back to the mine.”

“I know Blas. Lay back down. Scab, stop pawin’ at him gadammit.”

Shaking, Blas calmed down somewhat, looking up at Jeet with a wide-eyed gaze that seemed to be seeing through him rather than focusing. He’d progressively gotten worse over the past few hours, and was now feverish enough to be delirious and have no idea where he was.

Unable to help himself, Scab was making it worse. Concerned enough to want to be constantly touching Blas, he kept scaring him accidentally and setting Jeet on edge. Blas thought he was a Thrall Rustler and panicked while trying to scramble away. But Scab couldn’t stop; he’d never been close to anyone before, and the thought of losing Blas was unbearable.

Frazzled by watching someone who was normally so mellow and cheerful descend into incoherency, Jeet had snapped at Scab multiple times; saying a few things he was bound to regret. Scab was preoccupied enough to not notice, but it was still grating on Jeet.

“Scab. Go tend to the Lighthouse. Someone gotta look after it while I’m in here.”

“But Blas..”

“Are you my Champion or not? Go earn yer keep.”

Scab shifted back and forth on his palms before turning and scuttling out onto the catwalk. He took a deep breath, trying to refocus himself and think about what needed to be done. Bellowing out some orders to the Lighthouse at large, he crawled to Jeet’s plush chair and got himself situated, glaring down at the other residents who were slow to respond to his screechy commands.

Back in Blas’ room, Jeet heaved a sigh of relief that he finally had a reprieve from trying to take care of both of them at once. Even at the best of times he wasn’t able to handle all of Scab’s various issues and emotional baggage. Right now he needed to have some space to think clearly. Blas was obviously very, very ill, his fever hot enough that Jeet could feel it against his skin.

He’d been mumbling fragments of thoughts for a while now. Some of what he’d said made Jeet grind his teeth in anger, things he never wanted to know about what the Thrall Rustlers had done to Blas while they had him captive. Other things didn’t make any sense at all, but the one constant was once Blas realized Jeet was there he’d calm down and cuddle into him.

Jeet had never dealt with a sickness like this before. Of course he’d never gotten close enough to anyone to care if they started to descend into fever induced madness. Blas was still moving and breathing, but he didn’t seem to be rooted in reality anymore.

“Why can’t I feel my arm?”

“You … Hn.” Jeet rubbed his shoulder, mind racing. Eventually he took Blas’ remaining hand and brought it up to his chest. “It’s okay, you can feel this one. See?”

Blas flexed his fingers, stroking Jeet’s skin with a soft smile on his face. He was fading in and out of lucidity, but the presence of Jeet was keeping him somewhat stable, at least he knew he was safe.

Jeet leaned his head against the cool cinderblock wall behind him, focusing on the ceiling. It was covered with schematics for what he assumed were explosives, some of them meticulously drawn and others were clearly Scab’s contribution: stick people being incinerated. He could hear Scab yelling orders, residents walking back and forth on the catwalk indicating they were getting to work wherever Scab had assigned them.

Oddly enough he wasn’t concerned about the lighthouse right now. Scab was more than capable of running it for a day or so, any longer and he started to get delusions of grandeur, wanting to beat people for insubordination and make an example of them. But for a day it would be fine. As much as Jeet wanted to think of him as a brain-dead War Boy, he was a quick learner, obedient, and had a decent grasp on what needed to be done to keep everything working as intended.

He was, however; deeply concerned about Blas. People who were sick either got better on their own or died, simple as that. He didn’t have any idea how to help Blas get healthy again other than keeping him warm and making sure he ate and drank.

If the next day saw no changes, he’d have to change tactics.

—

“How’s he doing?”

Scab yawned and blinked sleepily at Jeet who was crawling through the entrance of the room. “The same. He said you gave him a blanket and then couldn’t find it and once I gave it to him he refused to let it go.”

Curled on his side, Blas had an orange blanket balled up against his stomach, arms wrapped around it as if he feared thieves would take it from him. His breath rattled as his lungs struggled to take in air. He’d started hacking up black gunk, coughing and choking for most of the night.

Jeet had tried to stay with him since Blas obviously wanted him there. He’d tried so hard. But once the coughing started in earnest he had to trade places with Scab. Every sound sent ricochets of pain through his skull, his brain pulsating and body inadvertently twitching. At least he’d gotten to rest, unlike Scab who was on day three of being awake and looked like death.

“Here, I’ll take him. You stay here and get some sleep.”

“What? Where are you going?” Scab started to prop himself up to follow Jeet, but he swayed dangerously and nearly fell over.

“I’m gonna take him outside where the air don’t smell like a rusty carburetor.” Jeet scooped up Blas, making sure the blanket came with him. “And you’re gonna stay in here and get some shut-eye before you faceplant into the floor.”

“But..”

“Nuh-uh. I give the orders, remember?” Jeet snarled as he struggled to carry Blas out of the room. The door was short requiring him to squat to get past, and not wide enough for Blas to go through sideways while being held. “Sleep or I’m chainin’ ya to the wall again.”

Scab sullenly sunk down onto the mattress, glaring at Jeet. He hadn’t been chained up in a while, but it was an effective strategy for when he went too long without sleep and started getting in everyone’s hair and talking crazy.

Finally getting through the doorway, Jeet waited until he saw Scab actually cover himself with a blanket and settle down for a nap before he proceeded to stand up and carry Blas downstairs. The rest of the residents silently made room for him, everyone staring in concern at the very ill Bullet Boy. It was an odd sensation for most of them, they were all Wastelanders and their only interaction with War Boys was to fight or run in terror. And yet here was a Bullet Boy, basically the same thing in their minds, who was cheerful and easy going and actively helped the stronghold survive. Losing him would be a huge blow to their defenses, but it would also be detrimental to the residents’ tenuous morale.

Once outside, Jeet crossed the drawbridge and walked a short distance from the lighthouse to where the rocky cliff gave way to deep, soft sand. He didn’t want to get too far away in case a war band appeared and he had to run back into the stronghold. From where he stood he could see the approaching road, and glancing back at the lighthouse he could see his lookouts doing their routine patrols.

That would be a little embarrassing since he knew they were all going to go up to the top of the lighthouse and stare at him. Pointedly turning his back and pretending they didn’t exist, he carefully set Blas down in the sand. Heated from the sun it was almost uncomfortably hot, but Blas squirmed immediately, struggling to spread out and soak up even more of it.

“Lemme have that blanket real quick.” When Blas hesitated Jeet softened his tone. “I ain’t gonna take it from you, but you’re gettin’ all gritty.”

Recognizing Jeet’s voice, Blas grudgingly released his ironclad grip on the blanket, letting Jeet spread it out so they could lay on it. He wanted to be directly in the sand and get as much heat as possible, but he didn’t resist as Jeet rolled him onto the fabric.

“I gave you this thing in the first place.” Jeet sat down next to him, crossbow at his side should anything happen.

“Makes it mine now.” Blas’ voice was faint and hoarse. Even that small amount of speaking sent him into a coughing fit, angling himself off the blanket to vomit up something green and black and decidedly unhealthy.

Concern growing, Jeet rubbed at Blas’ back until the hacking subsided, handing him a canteen to wash out his mouth. “The blanket is still yours, we’re just gonna use it. Why do ya care so much about this ratty thing anyway? Got you that one with the feathers that’s heaps better than this hunk of holes.”

“Because you gave it to me.”

“I gave you the other one too.”

“S'not the same.”

Jeet let it go, fully not understanding and he didn’t want to make Blas talk more than he needed to and start him coughing again. But he didn’t get it, he’d given the blanket to Blas because he felt guilty making him sleep on the cold concrete floor after raping him. It wasn’t exactly a good memory, yet Blas loved that blanket. Didn’t even share it with Scab.

Far in the distance he watched as a car drove from a roadkill encampment off towards the horizon, swallowed up by heat mirages. Maybe going to trade, or travelling to another campsite. Ever on edge he tensed, wondering if they could see him and forgetting that they were miles away. They had their own priorities, and wouldn’t have cared even if they could see Jeet from where they were.

Sometimes Jeet forgot that people did things besides fighting each other all the time.

Blas rolled towards him, stretching out and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. He rarely left the lighthouse, and when he did it was usually to bury mines or test explosives. This was nice; the hot sand beneath him heating the blanket, the sun cooking his skin.

A soft smile gracing his face, Jeet watched him squirm. He knew that bringing him outside to heat up wouldn’t magically cure him, he wasn’t even sure if it was the right thing to do for someone with a fever, but at least the heat was making Blas coherent and not deliriously rambling about his life before the Lighthouse. Jeet tried not to think about the past, and Blas normally never brought it up, but he knew that Blas was traumatized by all he’d gone through.

Scab was much more obvious. Crippled, loud, and constantly seeking attention, the horrible things that had occurred in his life were in plain view. Gastown’s warped brainwashing still clouding everything Scab did, evident constantly in how he acted.

Maybe it was the difference between War Boys and Bullet Boys, or maybe Jeet had gotten examples of both extremes, but Scab and Blas couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Blas was pleasant and easygoing, didn’t talk about himself ever, never boasted about his powdercooking skills. Scab never shut up, bragged about all his past accomplishments, and tried to fight everyone for no reason other than to fight.

Yet Blas’ yellow body bore the scars of leading a life of torment: his missing arm, scars all down his back where Thrall Rustler’s tested their blades on his skin, various burns and roadrash and teeth that had been knocked out. How had the two of them come out so different?

Interrupting Jeet from his reverie, Blas started coughing again. A dry cough this time, and it subsided quickly. Well that was a good sign.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Dizzy. Sleepy. My chest hurts like Scab’s been laying on me.”

“Least you’re not cold no more.” Jeet’s eyes were scanning the landscape, constantly on the lookout for trouble. But Blas was relaxed, back slumped against Jeet’s leg as he roasted in the sun. “This goop you’re hacking up … There a reason for that?”

“It’s sulfur and gunpowder from the mine. Work there long enough and your lungs will start rotting out. Normally miners suffocate from not being able to breathe and all the coughing. But I haven’t seen much like what I’m doing.” Blas put his hand against his chest, feeling the gurgly sound as he breathed deep. “Maybe I just need to get it all out. You got good aqua cola here, and more food than I ever had before. Might be gettin’ better.”

“They didn’t feed you at the Bullet Farm?”

“Not after I got my arm ripped off.”

Jeet grunted. Sounded awful. Especially if this was what getting better looked like. Then again, he was walking around with half his face and neck a blistery mess from burns that still pained him years later.

Stretching, Blas cupped the nub end of his arm, rubbing the scar beneath his fingers.

“That still hurt?”

“Nah, it’s a mite weird tho.” Blas reached up to Jeet, stroking the bubbly burnt skin on his shoulder. “What’s this feel like?”

“Not much.” He tapped the area harshly, “Don’t got feeling in my skin here no more. Guess I’m lucky it didn’t die and fall off.”

“That’s something that can happen?”

“You didn’t see Gutgash’s leg? He’s in worse shape than I am.” Jeet grimaced, pressing his fingers into the back of his neck. “Hope that pain rips him apart every day, worse than my noggin does.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” Blas had instead been focused on the fact he’d been whipped to the point of his skin hanging off in sheets. He was all healed now, only faint scars remained.

Jeet reached out to touch them, enjoying the feel of his nicely warmed skin. “Why don’t your bullets go all the way around?” His eyes roamed over Blas, taking in the various tattoos and scars.

“I don’t have that many confirmed kills.”

“That what these are for?” Jeet honestly wasn’t surprised. “Scab must be creaming himself over that.”

“Kills with the mines I made.” Smiling a little proudly he touched the one on his forehead. “Headshot with one I threw.”

Jeet whistled low. That was pretty impressive, even for him. And unlike Scab, Blas wasn’t prone to exaggeration.

Blas started coughing again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before flopping over to lean against Jeet. Eye’s flicking over Blas’ body, Jeet reached over to rub at his stump of an arm, he tried to enjoy this rare moment where his head wasn’t pounding, his injuries not making their violent bid to take up all his attention. It would come back soon enough.

No one got off easy in the wasteland.

—

Jeet set Blas down in his chair, feeling somewhat more confident that Blas wasn’t going to drop dead suddenly. He’d gotten better the past few days, especially once Jeet had started taking him outside to soak up the sun and breathe some decent air. Today when they’d returned from the other side of the drawbridge, Jeet had been unable to put Blas back in his room as there was a heavy metal barrel blocking the doorway.

Leaving Blas to melt into the plush cushions, Jeet glared down at his stronghold residents, namely the one that he knew Scab had a feud with, “The hell is this?”

“Sorry boss, but your War Boy was crawling around talking crazy. Said something about bleeding us dry to fill up Blas.”

That certainly sounded like Scab. “He didn’t attack you when you shoved him back in there?”

“He tried. But he’s weak as a starved lizard. Don’t think he’s eaten or slept in days.”

From within the room came the screechy reply of “I am not weak! I’ll rip your tongue out through your asshole Crankshaft.”

“Shut up Scab. Yer lucky he didn’t shove you in one of these barrels.”

There was a thud as Scab tried to scrabble between the doorway and the barrel, barely wide enough for him to get his arm through as he wildly flailed.

Jeet sighed and looked up at the ceiling as the man turned to leave, remarking as he went, “He’s your War Boy Jeet.”

“I don’t need you reminding me! And don’t you got work to be doing? I’m not feeding ya’ll so you can stand around doing nothing. Git back at it or take your chances outside.”

Long used to Jeet’s impatiently barked orders and explosive temper, the residents grudgingly got back to work. The threats weren’t empty, but it had been a long time since Jeet had kicked someone out. It was easier and more practical to just kill them, then at least they could eat them. But recently Jeet’s stronghold had started running efficiently and producing enough resources to keep everyone fed, enough scrap to build projects and keep the garage functional, and they were overflowing with bullets. There was plenty of time for people to relax and not be constantly working. But Jeet was so used to being neurotically obsessed with his inventory and ever present workload that it was difficult for him to come to terms with having any amount of free time.

Shifting the barrel to the side he prodded Scab with his foot, “Get back so I can bring Blas in there.”

Scab reluctantly retreated, making room for Jeet to set Blas down on the mattress. The War Boy looked paler than usual, dark circles around his eyes visible even under the gunpowder he used to paint his stripes and eye sockets. Blas happily slid under the blankets, thrilled beyond words to not be hacking up crud anymore.

Before Scab could start curling around Blas to keep him warm and stare at him while he slept, Jeet grabbed at his middle and awkwardly carried him out of the room. “Let Blas get some sleep without you harassing him. He’s gonna be fine after his lungs recover.”

“I’m not harassing him!”

“Yer being a pest. I oughta chain you to the railing, bind you all up so you can’t go nowhere.” Jeet was fully aware of how much Scab hated that, and he rarely threatened to immobilize him. But right now he meant it. Scab was driving everyone crazy, far more deranged and obnoxious when succumbing to lack of sleep.

Scab stiffened, not wanting to be tied up in any way, especially not to the railing where he always felt like he was just on the edge of falling off the catwalk. Then he was being unceremoniously dumped onto Jeet’s chair, a jumble of numb legs and arms flailing to try and straighten himself out.

“Stay there and sleep, or yer getting chained.”

“I don’t need sleep, I’m a War Boy.”

“Yer an idiot is what you are.”

Scab garbled something in response as he stretched out, head resting against the arm of the chair and getting comfortable.

Jeet didn’t say anything, quietly slipping away and hoping he’d sleep for the next day at least. Give everyone some time apart from his yelling.

Out cold, Scab didn’t react several hours later when Jeet draped a blanket over him, tucking in the corners to keep him from falling off the chair. He’d carry him back into Blas’ room eventually, once he started twitching and mumbling in his sleep. Jeet was pretty sure that Scab hadn’t slept through an entire night since he’d known him. At least nightmares that woke him up screaming had gotten significantly less frequent. Jeet never asked what those dreams were about.

—

All along the edge of the powdercooking table Blas had lined up various bullet casings, excitedly explaining to Jeet the pros and cons of each.

“Whoa whoa, slow down. Incindi-whatery now?”

“Incendiary. They’ll light on fire when they hit. Course it’ll be much nicer if yer hitting something flammable in the first place. Which is why I made explosive ones too. Should get some primo shrapnel on this, maybe some minor burning. Depends on what ya want.”

“I just want to make things dead, Blas.”

“Oh.. well I guess they all do that. Ya just want gunpowder in 'em?”

Seeing Blas’ disappointment Jeet inwardly groaned. “No, blowing up is good too. Yer the expert here, we’re trying to take down one of them little viper parties. What’s gonna get me the most damage for the fewest bullets?”

Blas brightened up again, sensing a challenge. “Probably want the explosive then. Aim for the tires and they should go down right quick. I can make more for ya, when would you need 'em by?”

A small smile tugged at Jeet’s lips and instead of replying he pulled Blas up against his chest, rubbing his shoulders. “No rush. Ain’t ya still healing up?”

“I’m good enough to get some work done.” Blas happily nuzzled against Jeet’s neck, not going to turn down some body heat and affection, especially when it was so rare from Jeet. And he’d never done anything like this where other people could see, he must have been really concerned.

“You’ve been up here all day, it’s almost evening.”

“It is?” Blas pulled back to look at one of the windows, he’d lost track of time while doing something he loved.

“Don’t want you passin’ out at the table. Git on back in yer room.” He smacked Blas’ butt as the Bullet Boy stretched and walked back towards his room.

Someone on the lower level of the lighthouse whistled and whooped at them, but when Jeet turned to glare he couldn’t tell who it was. Narrowing his eyes he followed Blas into the hollowed out alcove he lived in, trying to ignore what the rest of the stronghold thought they were doing in there.

Scab was already in the room, pre-heating the mattress for Blas. Without opening his eyes he scooched over, expecting to be cuddled up to by the scrawny Bullet Boy. So he was startled when instead of Blas he had Jeet carefully adjusting him onto his side so he could lay behind him. Scab froze, allowing his Imperator to do whatever he wanted to him, but confused.

Settling in, Jeet tilted Scab to slump against his chest, spooning him with his arm draped across his torso. Scab was a bit off balance like this, his pelvis unable to maintain the position without the muscles in his core supporting him. But Jeet knew he liked it, laying on his back all the time made him cramp up and it took a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll from his back to his stomach so he generally didn’t bother.

Blas flopped down, pressing into Scab’s chest and sandwiching him between the two of them. He still didn’t feel the greatest, his lungs hurt with every breath, but he’d passed the point where he might fall asleep and never wake up. He’d also really enjoyed the time that Jeet had spent with him. He never got that. Jeet was always too busy, didn’t see any value in just sitting with his prisoners and wasting time. But when they were sick or injured his emotions got the best of him and he broke down and succumbed to the need to make sure they were okay.

This was probably the last day that Jeet would spend being soft and caring. He had a reputation to uphold afterall. Though deep inside he knew it was already shot to hell from sitting in the sand with Blas for days and letting himself be cuddled. So he was going to make the most of this final day of sleeping in Blas’ room, even let Scab rest against him. Provided Scab didn’t turn into some horny groping machine and try to undress them both.

Scab wrapped an arm around Blas, pulling him close as he let himself lean against Jeet. He didn’t really like this, it was comfortable, but he got nervous when his Imperator saw him soft. Jeet was instigating it, so maybe it was okay; but on the other hand it might be some sort of test to see if Scab would rise above like a War Boy should.

The internal conflict of what he should do caused him to be tense and twitchy. Blas however; was nice and comfortable and had already started snoring, using Scab’s upper arm as a pillow.

Jeet leaned forward and bit Scab’s ear, “What are you so strung out for?”

“M'not.” He forcibly relaxed, trying to not think like a War Boy for once. Jeet was his Imperator, but he wasn’t like any of the ones Scab had known before. Because Jeet was a Wastelander, and somewhere in Scab’s twisted mind he knew it - he just chose to not consider that fact. But it was hard to ignore that Jeet had never punished him for softness, he often encouraged it in private even.

Scab took a deep breath and then closed his eyes, trusting Jeet to keep him from collapsing since he couldn’t feel if his hips started to slip. He focused instead on listening to Blas’ breathing, stronger than it had been in the past and less wheezy. That was promising.

Behind him Jeet was starting to fall asleep, tightening his grip on Scab to keep him close. Smiling in the darkness, Scab wriggled a little, enjoying the warmth on both sides of him.

Safety. Belonging. And most importantly a leader who cared enough about his resources to tend to their survival and well being.

Well, Jeet told people they were resources anyway. Maybe someone outside the lighthouse believed that.


End file.
